


In the Dark, We Will Take Off Our Clothes

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-25
Updated: 2009-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers the horrifying truth about his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark, We Will Take Off Our Clothes

_**In the Dark, We Will Take Off Our Clothes**_  
 **Title:** In the Dark, We Will Take Off Our Clothes  
 **Author:** nightrose_spn  
 **Pairings:** Sam/Dean  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** 3000  
 **Summary:** John discovers the horrifying truth about his son.  
 **Notes/Warnings:** Title from _Two-Headed Boy_ , a lovely song which has less than nothing to do with this fic. Warnings for language and implied underage prostitution.

It’s dark and a bit chilly. Money—a hundred dollars cash that I won playing poker with the spirit’s orphaned son—is burning a hole through my pocket. I’m lonely, and buzzed from the hunt, and maybe more than a little drunk. The boys must be asleep. It’s late, and they’ve got school in the morning. I figure I can stay out another half-hour.  
I know this isn’t exactly a noble thing to do, but Lord help me, I’m lonely.  
I turn the Impala off the main road and down the dark alley that serves a very specific purpose in this town. The girls clump together, half in the shadow of streetlamps. They’re young and skinny and half-dressed.  
This was a bad idea. Looking at the way their bones practically poke through their goosebumped skin, I don’t want to screw them. I want to buy them a warm jacket and a decent meal.  
This is a _terrible_ idea. I’ve decided that before I catch sight of the boy. He’s a scrawny little twink, green eyes heavily lined with black. He’s got gorgeous lips, half-parted as he leans against the wall. He drags the lower one between his teeth, reddening it slightly. His too-tight jeans ride low on his skinny hips, revealing the sharp juts of bone and pale skin covered in tiny freckles. His muscular arms are revealed completely by the white wifebeater he’s wearing.  
I slam down the brakes and pull down the window. “What the hell is this?”  
Dean grins back at me, cocky as anything. “What does it look like?”  
Swinging out of the car, I stalk over to him. “No. It can’t be.”  
“And why not?”  
“No son of mine would…” And then, because I don’t want to pursue that thought, “You like girls.”  
“So do you. And yet here you are, talking to a male prostitute on a street corner at midnight. Strange.”  
“I’m…”  
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “Look, I’m not real psyched to be here. I don’t come get fucked by strangers because I enjoy it.” A cold wind goes by. He shivers violently in his wifebeater, goosebumps appearing on his skin to mirror the shivering girls who watch us with their wide eyes. “Sure, there are some benefits. I get an orgasm or two out of the deal sometimes-“  
Made stupid by sheer shock, I whisper, “You’re a whore.”  
“Your mom’s a whore.” He grins cheekily at me. “Anyway, I prefer prostitute. Whore is kinda rude. Implies that I’m a slut or something.”  
“Well, you sure as hell aren’t saving yourself for marriage. It’s not like you’re one of those girls, some teenager who’s got no choice.” Half of me doesn’t believe that this vitriol is spilling out of my mouth, but the rest is still horrified at the sight of my son like _this_. “I’m pretty sure you’re just a whore.”  
“I’m not one of them. You’re right. I’m a teenaged boy who’s got no choice. That’s very different.” He nods at me, mock obedience in his eyes, the shadow of the only expression I’ve seen from him for so long.  
I laugh, scornful. “Like there’s anything forcing you to be here.”  
His face morphs, from the seductive disguise he’d been wearing as he leaned against the wall to a cold reproach that mirrors my own expression. He stands to his full height, looking me straight in the eye. “Oh, I guess you’re right, Dad. I’ll skip it for tonight. Go on home—oh, and by home I mean a shitty motel room with cockroaches in the bathroom and piss stains on the sheets—and get some rest. Of course, Sammy’s awfully hungry, and I probably won’t sleep that well on an empty stomach myself.”  
“There’s food.” At least, I could’ve sworn I left some.  
“There was. When you left. Two boxes of mac and cheese, a can of Chef Boyardee, and a box of lucky charms. No money, though.” He looks down, not meeting my eyes. “I stretched as far as I could. Always do. Contrary to what you seem to believe, I don’t actually enjoy turning tricks in a dirty alleyway. Hell, I haven’t eaten a thing since you left—but the food ran out yesterday, and I won’t let Sammy go hungry.”  
True horror dawns. “Son, I’ve been gone…” How long was it? Too long for him to not eat, that’s for sure.  
“Seven days. Startling how long a man can go hungry when this is the alternative. You should try it sometime.”  
The too-skinny girls are ringing us now, watching avidly with their drug-dulled eyes. I don’t see any sign of them in Dean’s face. He seems perfectly sober, just… resigned. “You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.  
“Actually, I’m damn sure I do. You ever shared a bed with someone because there’s no heat and you’re freezing? Ever promised the manager of a crap motel that you’ll get the money somehow, just one more night, please, you just got your brother to go to sleep and it’s the first time he’s stopped crying since your dad left? Ever sent him off to school and told him you’re sorry, there’s no lunch today, he’ll have to borrow from his friends? Ever gone seven days on water because you _don’t_ want to sell yourself? Ever had the one person who’s ever loved you look up at you with big, scared eyes and say ‘I’m hungry,’ not even asking for food, just trusting you to take care of it somehow because you always have before, no matter what it cost?”  
I wince. “Jesus, Dean.”  
He throws the tentative beginnings of my apology off. “I don’t have time for this. Look, are you paying? Because I’d really like to get the damn job done so I can go get something to eat, and I don’t like to leave Sam alone.”  
“Paying?” I splutter. God, let that not mean what I think it means.  
“Yeah, Einstein. Fifty for hand, sixty for mouth, hundred for…”  
I don’t want to hear the fucking _price list_. “I’m your _father_.”  
His jaw twitches. “Guess filthy whores like me don’t care much about little things like that. Look, I’m at least reasonably sure you aren’t gonna rape and kill me, and I can tell by how twitchy you were driving in that you haven’t done this before, so I bet you’re clean. That makes you a good deal in my book.”  
“Dean-“ I begin. He plows straight through.  
“That’s what you came here for, isn’t it? A nice, quick fuck with someone you’re paying to lie to you, no strings attached? Do what you gotta do, hand over the cash, and I’ll take it home to Sammy. You can take off after the monster of the week and Sammy and I can get some food in our bellies.”  
He mistakes my horrified silence for agreement, and adds in a soft voice, “You always said I looked like Mom.”  
I can’t help it. I reach out and grab him, pulling him in tight to my chest. Did he feel this small the last time I held him?  
When was that?  
His hands come up to push me away, but he’s so nauseatingly skinny that I barely register the efforts. “No cuddling. I do that with my baby brother, not some skeeze who’s paying me.”  
I see all too clearly how the world works in Dean’s frightened, traumatized mind. On one side, him and Sam. On the other, cold, hunger, angry motel managers, Child Protection Services, and every other human being. I’m one of them. Maybe not an enemy, but all too easily lumped in with every other faceless man Dean’s had to service in some filthy alleyway or the back of a car.  
“Listen to me, son. I’m not going to…” I can’t say the words. “You’re my child.” I haven’t done so well at proving what that means to me lately, so I add, “If Sam was you, and you were me, would you take him up on it? Even if you’d fucked up as badly as I have, would you fuck him?”  
“God, I’d never!” he protests, like he actually has to convince me. There are tears in his eyes, turning the make-up into black mud, as he whispers, “He doesn’t even know. I never let him find out.”  
I rub Dean’s back softly. “Shh. I never doubted it. Just trying to make you see.” I feel him take a deep, shuddering breath. “C’mon, son. Let me get you something to eat.”  
He is pliant, no doubt with fatigue, as I strap him into the passenger’s seat. He waves out the window at the girls, who blow kisses back.  
Trust Dean to seduce anything female within a hundred-mile radius—even the hookers.  
“Burgers okay?”  
Dean shoots me a sarcastic glance. It’s a little ridiculous with the eyeliner, but I’m so relieved to see him back to himself, not that fragile shell. “Really, Dad? Haven’t eaten in seven days. Not about to complain. It could be one of Sammy’s damn salads and I’d eat it.”  
We pull up by a diner. The waitress shoves her ample breasts in my face but I ignore it, focused on the way Dean’s hands shake. I order three cheeseburgers, two orders of fries, one of onion rings, three milkshakes, and a slice of pie. We box up one of the burgers and the onion rings straightaway and get one of the shakes in a to-go cup, for Sam. Dean and I eat there, on the vinyl seats of the diner.  
He cuts his food into small pieces, chewing each bite slowly and carefully. Between each, he pauses to take a slice of milkshake and give his shriveled stomach time to adjust.  
That may be more chilling than anything else, even my son offering his body to me for money to buy food. That he has this easy familiarity with recovery from starvation makes me wonder—how long has he been doing this? How many times has he suffered through these unimaginable things?  
“So, how’s this gonna go?” he asks. “You wanna lay into me? Call me some more names? I’ve pictured this conversation in a million ways. You really can’t top it.”  
“I’m so sorry, Dean. I don’t know how to make you believe it but it’s true. You will never have to do that again. Never. If I have to give up hunting for a while, so be it.”  
I can tell _that_ wasn’t something he had a carefully prepared statement for. “But Mom…”  
“Would rather see her boys safe than her death avenged. Hell, Mary would never forgive me for letting this happen to you.” I can see the look on her face, practically hear her reproaches. ‘John Winchester, you’re supposed to be takin’ care of my boys. You’re sleeping on the couch for a year, you hear me?’ It sends a too-familiar pain through my heart, but I ignore it.  
Dean shakes his head. “No. A lot of people could die. I won’t be responsible for that.”  
“All right,” I agree. “But I’m never gonna let this happen again. You have to tell me. And I’ll leave all the cash I’ve got with you boys.”  
“It’s a deal.” He sucks down the absolute last of his milkshake and begins speculative examination of the pie. “Can I save that for later? I’m about to explode.”  
“Yeah, sure.” Remembering all the times I’ve teased Dean for his ridiculous appetite, I feel an even more dreadful spike of guilt. Yeah, he eats a lot—when he’s not starving. I motion to the waitress, who brings us the check and puts Dean’s pie in a box, stacking it on top of Sam’s food.  
When we get to the motel, I say softly, “Son. Those things I said before… I didn’t mean them. You handled this real well. It wasn’t a fair situation I put you in, and you took the best option you had. You would rather go without… for _weeks_ … than debase yourself the way you had to. But you’d do anything to stop Sam from ever having to miss a meal. Hell, I don’t know if I could have done it myself. If I can ever make it up to you, you just let me know.”  
He grants me a hesitant smile. “Thanks, Dad.”  
“I don’t say it often enough, not nearly… But I’m terribly proud of you.”  
The tears I’ve seen in his eyes, practically since I discovered him, spill out and over. One runs down his cheek. I don’t call him on it.  
“I gotta go pay off the manager. You get some food into your brother.”  
Dean grins. “Yes, sir!”  
I watch as he opnes the door.  
When I’ve finished dealing with the irate manager, who tacked on a truly ridiculous amount of fines on for my lateness, they’re asleep. The wreckage of Sam’s dinner is everywhere.  
They’re in one bed, maybe reserving the other for me—but it’s made neatly, and I seriously doubt this motel has daily maid service.  
Time enough to worry about that later.  
Dean is curled protectively around Sammy’s small body, arms encircling him. They breathe in perfect unison.  
I smile as I collapse into my own sleep.  
After that, I pay better attention to my boys. Maybe I’m not there all the time, but I’m around for Christmas and their birthdays. Dean puts some weight on. Eventually, I don’t see the way he looked that night every time I glance over at him.  
I don’t interfere, though. They have their own lifestyle, and it doesn’t have me in it. I don’t try to change that. I’ve got no right.  
See, I can’t fix Dean. The best I can do is tell him I’m proud of him, give him what I’ve been denying him for so long, and make sure that he’s fed and has a warm, clean bed to sleep in at night. The only thing that will make him better is the person he trusts, the person who’s always been there to love him. Sam’s unconditional gratitude, his worshipful adoration, is the only thing that can take the shadows away from his eyes. The only thing that will stop him from having those nightmares that still wake him up screaming sometimes.  
Those boys are everything to each other. Even I can see it. They love each other more than life. Dean did everything he did for one reason—to keep Sam safe. If the roles had been reversed, I have no doubt Sam would have made whatever sacrifice he had to for his brother.  
I keep that in mind. When I see the way they wrap around each other at night, when I watch them walk home from school hand in hand, when the touches they steal progress from familial pecks on the cheek to gentle kisses, I let it go. Dean wouldn’t hurt Sam, I know that. If this is happening, it’s because they both want it, both need it to be happy.  
When else have they ever gotten the chance for that?  
Half of Dean’s childhood was spent starving or worse. He’s convinced Sam never knew, but I’m not so sure. Sam’s a smart kid, and he’s attuned to his brother like the earth is to the sun.  
The pain of that has sunk into me as deeply as the pain of losing my wife. My children, my sons… I was supposed to keep this safe. This never should have happened to them. Not while I was alive to protect them.  
I have no right to complain.  
And there’s no doubt that they’re doing some things any other father would certainly complain about. You can’t be stupid and be a hunter. You’ll get yourself killed.  
So it isn’t a surprise when I see it.  
Dean wraps one hand around the back of his brother’s head, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair. He grips Sam’s hip gently. Their lips are about to touch when I see, more than hear, Dean whispering, “I love you so much, Sammy.”  
The kiss is slow, sweet, and gentle. Sam’s knees buckle, and Dean catches him, holds him up, as their lips meet softly.  
And then Dean sees me, where I’m watching in the corner of the room. I’d come in so silently he must not have noticed, must have thought me still off on the hunt.  
Dean carefully releases Sam, gentle as long as his hands are on his brother’s body, and then springs into sudden action. He jumps in front of his brother, arms extended as if to protect him from me. When he sees I’m not about to draw a gun or something, he speaks in a voice little more than a whisper, “You promised me once, Dad, that if you could ever make it up to me, you would. If you could ever help undo what happened, you would. No matter what. Do you remember that?”  
“Yes.”  
“I expect you to keep that promise now. I would and have never hurt Sammy. He loves me as much as I love him.” He sounds completely calm and rational. “Don’t make me leave. Don’t try to rip us apart. Don’t hate either of us because of it.”  
Dean hasn’t mentioned what I found him doing, not once since that night. That he brings it up now…  
I know he doesn’t trust me, but how could he think I would hate him for this? That I could try to ruin whatever tentative happiness he has found despite everything he’s had to suffer?  
I smile. “I’d tell you to take care of him, but I know you will.”  
“What?”  
“Dean, I’m not an idiot. I know, have known, and I’m not holding it against you. Neither of you.” I say the words I’ve held back for so long. Why? Did I think it was weak to let my children know how I feel about them? God, how could I be so stupid? “I love you both, no matter what.”  
I watch as Dean curls his fingers around Sam’s hand, and I smile wider.  



End file.
